


Marks In Flesh

by Shatterpath



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-03
Updated: 2001-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dace celebrates the scars of survival in her own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marks In Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> I punched this out in ten minutes flat. I think I'm recovering from writing withdrawl!

++ Dace ++

 

(7-3-02)

 

I expected the pain.

 

I can handle the pain.

 

The guy was good, plunging the needle through the thickness of my carefully pinched flesh and utterly ignoring Cath's teasing hand down my pants in loving distraction. It bled down my temple, burned in that strangely hot-almost-swollen kind of way that only body piercings seem to do. Not that my earlobes prepared me for my new ornamentation!

 

The rambling is not succeeding in distracting me from the silvery rod with its rounded barbell tips that pulls the gaze away from my bright blue eyes. There it lies, the rod a neat bulge beneath the scar that Snake-Eyes left on my temple. There is no point trying to detract attention from the brutal mark, the furrow in my skin, the tiny pinpricks running parallel where the sutures held the wound closed. Sure, the Chicago surgeons did a great job, but the wound was just too ugly to hide.

 

So, I made the decision to celebrate it.

 

Now I'm home, staring at the raw and swollen hole in my body, put there with my full cooperation and permission, unlike the scar it now harmonizes with. I think that's what drove me to this decision. The choice I have this time to alter my looks with holes and scars.

 

Bracing myself for the sharper pain than the original needle, I dab on the ointment and twist the stainless steel rod, breathing deep against the shrieking of my nerves in objection. This is the tough part, I know that, the healing of the raw tunnel. Blowing out the heavy breath in my chest, I look at the eyebrow piercing and my wry smile.

 

This is a testament to taking control back from the pain and fear that madman left behind. It's a strange empowerment ritual, sure, but it suits me.


End file.
